somebody else
My mind is of the aching kind.
I've never been absolute about certainty. But I'm certainly not absolute.
A lot of angst has been removed but I'm not happy for it. The desires it was attached to. The place I'm in now is familiar, but doesn't feel that way. Becoming comfortable in your skin is not something I want to experience.
There's so many of you. You're all lovely and beautiful. But it's a mild appreciation at best. I can't love any. Not as much as I used to. Even the loveliest and most beautiful. A different day begets a different version of you. All of which I can't attach to. Nothing inside of me is strong. Nothing inside of me is capable of it.
I still love to love. But the container which holds that which I love is shrinking. It's not that I love less, it's that I'm not throwing the descriptor around. Nothing is surrounding.
Ability. I should certainly feel happy to be able. Yet, it doesn't reassure. I would not trade this skill, but maybe for a reasonable offer I would. Sometimes a reminder is required.
None of this is to say that I am happy or sad. Angry or envious. Simply. I can hear the sounds arounds me. Yes I've intentionally pluralized "around" because it looked nicer next to "sounds".
I promised I would recognize you when I arrived. I kind of do. You'll have to forgive me. It's been over six months.
I want to find out about everything.
It's so much easier to understand in black & white.
Language is of diversity, but mine is not of malleability.
The ones I've once loved, I still do. The ones I've once hated, I may still. But the ones I admire are forever.
Maximizing. I'm trying to optimize the amount of thrill. Systematically, I'll place myself into situations of fright and pleasure. I can't think of one without the other. Nothing is more inviting. Nothing is more enticing.
I've arrived to accept. This whole place would not be the same. It would be paragraphs.
I can hardly remember. But I want to.
The places I've been, I can never return. I can't replay eras of my life. Shame is the only thing worse than guilt. And the longer it grows, the sadness will show. I don't think an editor could make my life seem purposed or dramatic.
And the unfortunate part is, you're still the one stuck in my head. All other distractions can't do much. In fact, I'm afraid they won't. I really should find something of my own. But even then, what will I think of you? When will I think of you? Likely all the time.
Who is special? Show them to me. Introduce them.
I don't think anyone will ever want to hear what I don't say explicitly. It's not really flattering, but certainly interesting.
I haven't been here before. I've been here before.
And that's why.
You will be.
All there.
Read it all. I never have. I may not.
I've never been absolute about certainty. But I'm certainly not absolute.
A lot of angst has been removed but I'm not happy for it. The desires it was attached to. The place I'm in now is familiar, but doesn't feel that way. Becoming comfortable in your skin is not something I want to experience.
There's so many of you. You're all lovely and beautiful. But it's a mild appreciation at best. I can't love any. Not as much as I used to. Even the loveliest and most beautiful. A different day begets a different version of you. All of which I can't attach to. Nothing inside of me is strong. Nothing inside of me is capable of it.
I still love to love. But the container which holds that which I love is shrinking. It's not that I love less, it's that I'm not throwing the descriptor around. Nothing is surrounding.
Ability. I should certainly feel happy to be able. Yet, it doesn't reassure. I would not trade this skill, but maybe for a reasonable offer I would. Sometimes a reminder is required.
None of this is to say that I am happy or sad. Angry or envious. Simply. I can hear the sounds arounds me. Yes I've intentionally pluralized "around" because it looked nicer next to "sounds".
I promised I would recognize you when I arrived. I kind of do. You'll have to forgive me. It's been over six months.
I want to find out about everything.
It's so much easier to understand in black & white.
Language is of diversity, but mine is not of malleability.
The ones I've once loved, I still do. The ones I've once hated, I may still. But the ones I admire are forever.
Maximizing. I'm trying to optimize the amount of thrill. Systematically, I'll place myself into situations of fright and pleasure. I can't think of one without the other. Nothing is more inviting. Nothing is more enticing.
I've arrived to accept. This whole place would not be the same. It would be paragraphs.
I can hardly remember. But I want to.
The places I've been, I can never return. I can't replay eras of my life. Shame is the only thing worse than guilt. And the longer it grows, the sadness will show. I don't think an editor could make my life seem purposed or dramatic.
And the unfortunate part is, you're still the one stuck in my head. All other distractions can't do much. In fact, I'm afraid they won't. I really should find something of my own. But even then, what will I think of you? When will I think of you? Likely all the time.
Who is special? Show them to me. Introduce them.
I don't think anyone will ever want to hear what I don't say explicitly. It's not really flattering, but certainly interesting.
I haven't been here before. I've been here before.
And that's why.
You will be.
All there.
Read it all. I never have. I may not.